


Yetzer Ha Tov, Yetzer Ha Ra

by ToasterBonanza



Series: Piper at The Gates of Dawn [7]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors
Genre: Bajoran Culture, Buddhism, Crimes & Criminals, Dubious Consent, Grieving While In Exile, Hybrids, Internalized Misogyny, Judaism, Klingon Culture, M/M, Musicians, Pining, Pon Farr, Ride or Die For Your Friends, Rosh HaShana | Jewish New Year, Seduction, Self-Exile, Self-Reflection, Self-Sacrifice, finding one's place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterBonanza/pseuds/ToasterBonanza
Summary: Story 7 in "Piper at the Gates of Dawn"The USS Maryam is celebrating the High Holidays! Anyone and everyone is invited, even those who are under harsh scrutiny but not yet arrested!But Minjaral is the only one enjoying himself. His three friends are miserable, not just for the suspicions around them but also for their personal losses. Vudic's pon farr is rising to the surface, Doh'Val is still clinging to the one thread left of his old life, and Krax thinks he shouldn't have come at all. For the first time since The Breakup, they do something they thought they'd never do again: they talk to each other.However, they must be careful. They are being watched. And they must decide between their morality and their animal instincts.(Note: Jewish philosopher Maimonides elabroated on the rabbinic understanding of theyetzer ha tov(good impulse) and theyetzer ha ra(evil impulse) as being associated with constructs within ourselves. Theyetzer ha tovwas derived from moral and rational self. Theyetzer ha rawas derived from wanting to satisfy our basic needs as animals)
Series: Piper at The Gates of Dawn [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072472
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Forgiveness

Six days. Minjaral had waited so long already. He would wait another six days.

What to do for the day? Take some time for himself. The others...they would find him. Not right away, he hoped. Quarantine meant remaining on the USS Maryam; as they had no charges lodged against them, all of them could walk the space station as guests.

Wandering the station during this jubilant time became a hobby of its own while everyone prepared for the “High Holidays.” The crew complement, the size of a large village, filled the corridors with giddy energy as they stopped to chatter, hold impromptu meetings, or shouted excitedly in passing; not even Qo’noS had this much colors in the chatter of its people. They made no exception to Minjaral. Gossip, a music question, or a cordial greeting.

“ _Mr. Seu, good morning. Did they tell you the celebration schedule?”_

Cooperation gave him a pristine reputation. They treated him like a friend to all, ignoring the truth of his situation. Their affection for him would never fill the hole, but it could take up space.

“ _Mr. Seu! You are an expert, right? I was wondering about some Bajoran chants…”_

Their sincerity—nothing like his former home—let him believe that he could make this place his home. He couldn’t. But he could dream.

“ _Minjaral! Oh, you haven’t met Dear Nikita? I must tell you all about him....”_

Part of him loved every single one of them. Part of him knew he shouldn’t fall in love with his beautiful, comfortable cage.

He wound his way into the smallest of the crew’s leisure areas, a well-cushioned space. The lighting drew him as he found the other places too bright for his comfort. No lights above, instead soft lights along on the dainty tables, dotting the carpet, and along the walls. The long counter at one end hid the kitchen and the variety of musical instruments that the stewards provided upon request. He also appreciated the maze-like configuration with stylish false walls and large, sweeping windows to display the unforgiving beauty beyond.

Crewmembers—cadets, mostly, from the uniforms—eagerly decorated the walls and furniture while one or two officers—probably officers—directed them. He should ask about the meaning for the colors and symbols; patterns quickly emerged, but he couldn’t make sense of its significance.

“Mr. Seu!” A cadet whose face he did not recognize bounded up to him, decorating items still in hand. Everyone recognized him. “Have you attended a class yet?”

He stammered with embarrassment. No reason. He was under no obligation to partake in his captors’ festivities. “I, I do not believe so….”

“Please do! Dancing is so important to our celebrations, so we offer classes before the celebrations begin.”

Mercifully, the measured maternal tone of an officer came from over his shoulder. “Cadet, do not allow your enthusiasm to become coercion. You have not completed your task.”

Minjaral turned to thank the officer and found a Vulcan, paler than Vudic and with that typically severe style. She nodded in acknowledgment. Despite the expected demeanor of her people, he still noticed that she approached him with a warm and affable curiosity. “Mr. Seu, I am pleased to see that you are well and allowed the same privileges as our guests.”

“Thank you.” It was the only thing he could add to the conversation.

“This station and its anchor settlement have an unusual history in the Federation….” The officer continued, and Minjaral was surprised at what he learned. The humans here are descended from a sub-group within the species whose culture and genetic dispositions were considered intertwined. This sub-group experienced great suffering at the hands of their own species, and so they began establishing the first human colonies as soon as they were able. The planet around which this space station orbits is recognized as their homeland and the planet’s city Shahrazad Al-Shahib their birthplace, although many still live on and travel to Earth. He felt a connection with this culture.

“...And so, it appears that this culture-wide trauma has led to emphasis on behavior which promotes cultural exchange, curiosity, and the well-being of all life. It is fascinating. Many cultures which experience multi-generational violence appear to take on the violence and teach it as the natural order of the universe. They have grown beyond this.”

If only Safia could be there to know what he knows. Cosmic collusion. He was here because what he had done made it impossible for him to see her for a very long time. If ever. While the officer eyed her charges, Minjaral gestured for them to sit so he could hear more. Someone in the far corner near the great windows caught his eye.

Vudic. Alone. Watching him.

The officer saw him and her air became guarded. “You know this man.” Vudic lowered his eyes in deference. Or shame.

Careful. “He is also in quarantine. With me.” He needed to find the perfect chord to strike.

A hint of her affable nature returned. “You are not—” She laced her fingers together. “—Involved.”

He couldn’t understand the meaning of her words or the gesture, but he knew the right answer. “No, he is a colleague. We have not seen each other in a long time.”

The response satisfied her. “I must depart. I look forward to future discussions, Mr. Seu.”

Vudic still hadn’t looked up. Next to the great picturesque windows with the infinite cosmos beyond, he looked small and frail. Even groomed, shaved, and with a change of clothes, the weariness remained. His posture was upright but imperfect, and a bowl of hot something cooled next to him. Minjaral found this uncharacteristic display disturbing; this was not how his colleague—or any member of his species—ever behaved in public. But compassion won out. Vudic, more than anything, looked lonely.

He gave a muffled cough to announce himself when he approached the table. Vudic looked up at him with deep dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He poorly hid his surprise to see Minjaral approach him at all, standing and offering a seat. “Please, let me bring the steward to us.” His eye twitched as he spoke, as if the idea of bearing a second person would be too much.

“Vudic, do not trouble yourself.”

He bolted back to his seat. “A wise choice. No one will look at me or speak to me or acknowledge me.” A thread of brown tarnish in his silvery voice.

Minjaral understood now why Vudic chose this spot. It was quiet, removed, and gave a wide view of everything. Sweeping the room, he noticed the officer from earlier speaking with another Vulcan. Their body language made the subject obvious, them.

No. Not them. Vudic. And from him staring into his bowl of weak broth, Vudic knew. Minjaral looked up again to see another Vulcan in the room, glancing often in their direction. And then another. And another.

Prophets. Of course. The station has cameras everywhere and no one aboard could keep a secret for more than a few moments. He could leave Vudic to the mercy of whoever was responsible for holding them. It would be the easy thing to do, and these adoring people would encourage him.

As much as he wanted the station crew to fill the hole, they couldn’t. They were not his friends. They never were.

“Vudic,” he asked. “Why did you come here?”

“You asked me.” His tone refuted the premise of the question.

“You owe me not—”

“I owe you my life.” His voice faltered. “I. I owe you my mother’s peace of mind.”

“I wish I had known what you may lose by coming to my aid.” For his flaws—perhaps more numerous than he had realized—Vudic gave up his reputation and good standing within his own social circle at home to come here and defend Minjaral’s character. No one so privileged as this man had ever done that for him.

To this, he turned back to his broth. “I do not regret my decision.” He was not lying, but he transparently wore his doubts.

Someone was practicing scales on a keyboard in another corner of the room. Minjaral couldn’t put off the topic any longer. “We need to talk about the other day.”

“There is nothing to discuss. I did not act with control. I apologize that you saw me behave without logic.” His eyes remained on his cup of broth.

“That is very good, but I cannot grant you forgiveness.”

Oh good, he finally looked up. “I beg your pardon?” he retorted incredulously.

“Only Doh’Val can forgive you. I cannot do it for him.” He leaned in to add, “What you did was not wrong because it was illogical. It was wrong because you could have killed him.”

He hissed with fire in his eyes. “Do not speak to me as if I do not know.”

Minjaral wouldn’t flinched or back down. Not for him, not for anyone.

The show of strength deflated his bravado. He lowered his head to gaze at nothing in particular. “I was born on Earth. My parents knew diplomats, and I was raised alongside their children. I had no reason to think anything was strange. Vulcan children and human children alike saw nothing strange in me. Then, we went to Vulcan. And...children did not speak to me. They did not look at me. They did not want to know me.” A pained exhale. “Art. Music. It compelled them to acknowledge me. I was certain that I could do nothing to blemish my reputation. I had spent too long on perfection to ensure that no one would ever ignore me again.” The sigh that left his lungs was one that Minjaral knew crossed all cultures: the sigh of someone stopping themselves from coming undone. “This censure is untenable.”

“It is punishment for the crime of existing.” The only two people able to say the right thing were light years away. Vudic had to bear this alone. “But you are hard to ignore.”

“I am confident that they will see the illogic of keeping me any longer. They will have no choice but to release me.” An uncomfortably long silence passed before he added, “Of course I will seek to free you and the others as well.”

Minjaral needed him to understand. “Vudic,” he began quietly, “their accusations against us are serious. I hear we are being treated as conspirators to some end, I cannot say. But our freedom will not come easy. They may even try to turn us against each other.”

Nothing about this situation satisfied him. “That is impossible. We are innocent.”

Why did he insist on making things difficult? “Why have you not submitted to the medical exam? If you are certain of your innocence, give your cooperation. They are not our enemies yet.” While he suspected that their arrangement for him was unusual, he would still extol the virtues of the station’s doctors for how they handled other patients, not just him.

“I need a Vulcan doctor.”

“ _Why_?”

Silence. Then, “I have. I have a sickness. It. It is one where I must have a specialist.”

“But doctors here—”

“ _Are not enough_.” He wasn’t making eye-contact, an unnerving thing now after how often and intensely he did before. “What afflicts me is like a madness.” To him, this seemed a matter of life and death. He could keep the fear off his face but not out of his eyes. “I. Minjaral. My actions when we arrived. It is the sickness. You will see things. I...Please. Trust that they do not reflect my character.” Vudic reached a gloved hand out but fell short of touching him. “Whatever happens, you _must_ ensure that I see this doctor when they arrive from Vulcan.”

What would compel him to not see the doctor? Minjaral hesitated to respond. “I will do this for you.”

He relaxed a little, fear now turning to melancholy. “Thank you.”

Another silence. Minjaral felt that they should part ways for the day, but he couldn’t let himself leave just yet. He understood what Vudic felt—or at least, appeared to feel. He felt a great deal of things, that much was clear. Revelations about one’s place on one’s homeworld did not give way to positive thoughts. Vudic stared at his broth which no doubt was now cold.

Life on the station went on around them. The man’s body seemed to call out for some contact, even a light embrace. But they were in public. The gesture would do nothing good for either of them, only humiliating Vudic and shredding Minjaral’s acquired goodwill.

He had lost track of time when the bubble of silence was popped.

“Thank you,” whispered Vudic.

Minjaral didn’t speak lest the protective silence disappear forever.

“For...” A faint smile. “For acknowledging me.”

He understood that feeling more than he wanted to discuss at this time. “Though it is painful, seeming to not exist will protect us. You must let me handle all of our matters.”

“They are fond of you here.” Some notes of jealousy in his voice.

Vudic had his own hardships, Minjaral saw that now. People like them were destined for difficulty. Vudic would also never understand the intense temptations to simply give in and delude oneself into substituting the empty adoration for truthful love. “They cannot replace any of you. They would not give up for me what you did.” They were his friends now—perhaps his only friends—whether any of them wanted that or not.

“Thank you.”

A deep voice caught their attention at the entrance of the lounge; Doh’Val was at the counter, the steward’s body language open and welcoming. The station had litigated the incident down the minor details and concluded that nothing about it had been Doh’Val’s fault. The steward gestured to his own neck, clearly asking about it.

Vudic had turned back to his cup of broth.

“You two have some things to discuss.”

He stood up, slipping past Doh’Val before the other noticed him. Over his shoulder came Vudic’s voice. “Doh’Val, I must apologize to you for the incident. I regret that I harmed you….”

Six days. He could be patient for six days.

++++++++++++++  
++++++++++++++

_Diary for Myself._

_He forgave me!_

_I thought I may weep with joy to hear him forgive me, say the scales are balanced for the injuries we caused each other, sit with me and rest his hand atop mine. How acutely the glove chafe my skin let leave no marks!_ _His eyes, the color of willow bark, regard me so tenderly. I feel his voice in my bones, softly speaking our shared tongue. He forgives me!_

_The other_ _s from Homeworld_ _. They know._ _I hear them inside me, in my fingers, my ankles, my ribs. Their whispered insults are in my hair and I have no choice but to let them fester; if I rip out even one strand; Doh’Val will not think me beautiful. I feel his desire to touch my hair._

_M_ _injaral._ _He saved my life once before. Could he save me again? Could he cool my fever? My body craves so many things. What delicious violence is inside him? The impressions, the ghosts, the things that linger inside me—I want it. I may be stronger than he, but I fear him. He will not show it, but inside me I feel his long-forgotten blood lust. It is not simple anger inside him. It is rage: existential, exquisite, excruciating._

_T_ _he walls_ _of my quarters_ _are textured like his scaly skin. His false eye—ah! It is baleful and unyielding! Even if he may avert one eye, the false one forever is fixed on me. Today it was the_ _color of blue water lily. An overture?_ _The others adore him. He is so kind, so strong, so tidy in his ways of hiding the horrors locked away within. Would he_ _pull apart his skin to reach in and show me the horrors inside him? I fear him. I fear his strength, and yet I want him! I want to feel his scales pinning me against this textured wall, feel his hand reach through a slit inside me and grasp my lungs! I want him to take me!_

_No! Doh’Val would know! He would surely break me for my transgression!_

_The doctor must come soon. My loom, where are the threads? They turn to molten gold in my hands. The strands are rust._

_How much longer can I wait?_


	2. Suffering

Four days. Minjaral could be patient for four more days.

In the eyes of these people, he could do no wrong. The “High Holidays” meant non-stop revelries as people hosted private parties in their quarters when they weren’t at the larger gatherings throughout the recreational spaces. It seemed the people who interviewed him were the only ones who disliked him, and even they were curtly polite; Baran would always remind him that they would find out what he was planning, but Minjaral never sensed the same anger behind his words as before.

Mid-morning and already whisked away to a party in someone’s private quarters; what was everyone’s name again? People who had parties didn’t even close their doors, turning entire corridors into one huge celebration. Nothing like the food at Carl and Tavana’s home: braided bread, baked fruit, something called “gefilte fish”, so many sweet things. He already made himself sick eating too much sweetness the night before. Today was for moderation.

At the moment, he was mystified by the young Bajoran officer who didn’t recoil in disgust but instead stood close, leaning against a low table where they were sitting on the floor, grinning and tracing a waif-ish finger along the imperfections of Minjaral’s hand. “I hear this is one of the best places to take shore leave during the High Holidays,” he said in a light gray voice.

The friendliness disarmed him as did his appearance. “Forgive me, I must ask. You are so young yet wear your hair in an older style.” Long hair was only now becoming fashionable again on Bajor, yet the officer’s red hair was long enough to have been growing for years. “Who taught you this?”

“Oh, this?” He giggled as he coiled a few locks around his other finger. “Oh, no one.” The little scar above his lip moved with his smile. Minjaral liked people with scars. “Why? Do you like it?”

It didn’t occur to him that the man might be flirting. Instead he saw youthful curiosity overcoming any learned prejudice. He forgot to compensate for his injured face when he smiled back. “Yes. Yes, I like it very much.” Despite now refusing to call Bajor ‘homeworld’ and leaving only two months ago, the same questions were on the tip of his tongue: What province was he from? What’s the weather now? What is government doing? What’s new?

No sooner did the hand slide up to his wrist did the young Bajoran officer frown at something over his shoulder. “Is...is that your husband?”

He looked over to see Doh’Val across the room, watching them with a permanent glower. No, with caution. Memories of Qo’noS snapped back: members of Morath’s house would keep their distance whenever he met with the patron but watched him with the same vigilance. It was a sign of respect. But not one people here would understand. “No, he is—pardon me, I must take care of this.”

“Oh? Perhaps you could join me later on my ship?”

Now wasn’t a good time to explain that any attempt to leave the space station would get him arrested, charged, and thrown in the brig. A comfortable cage is still a cage. “Perhaps!”

Seeing him approach, Doh’Val bowed stiffly and did not straighten up until granted permission. Minjaral asked, “Why do you not partake? I am in no danger.”

Even now, Doh’Val’s body seemed ready to strike out at anyone who may harm them. “You are my patriarch and my kin. It is a matter of honor.”

“Yes, but only in name. You are my equal—”

Something between despair and frustration came out of his rich dark-soil voice. “It is all I have of my old life. Please allow me this.”

The sibling’s instinct awoke in Minjaral. “Come,” he said softly. “There is an arboretum. It is quiet now.”

Minjaral came here often when his heart ached for Bajor. He couldn’t name any of the plants, but he still marveled at the variety of colors: ghost-like blue flowers and red wide leaves and golden fruits the size of his false eye. Hardly anyone else in the great expanse with a dome open to the stars surrounding them. His favorite place, a bench hidden behind gigantic bushes, waited for them.

Doh’Val spoke with his body. He hunched forward like someone shedding their armor. His dark eyes stared into the middle distance. His desperation was written on his face.

Minjaral would not press him. They could stay here, together, in silence for as long as Doh’Val wished.

“...I thought I was strong. Before I met you.” He kept his eyes fixed on a single small red fruit many strides away. “I thought I understood strength. I thought I was charismatic before I met Krax. I thought. I thought I was forward-thinking before I met Vudic. And I thought that I was an artist before I met all three of you.”

Minjaral placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, wondering how Doh’Val would take the gesture. “You are still all of these things.”

“No.” He didn’t push away the hand. “I am not. And I no longer know where I belong.”

That sibling instinct took hold once more. He slid his hand over to wrap an arm around Doh’Val’s shoulder. His friend’s life always been one where he was the youngest with someone to look after him. Doh’Val needed silence, not persuasion.

“...I do not belong with my father’s family.” To the slight tremolo in Doh’Val’s voice, Minjaral instinctively scanned around. “I considered joining a monastery.” Anyone seeing him like this would be devastating. “I...Patriarch, forgive me. Vudic is easier to speak with on these things. He has read the Vedas and Tantric Sutras. He understands in ways you cannot.”

True artists: Vudic and Doh’Val insisted of making their friendship as complicated as possible with a shared third language and opaque ancient texts. “Perhaps, but I would like to learn.” He smiled as his own cleverness. “As your patriarch, should I not learn these things?”

Like a key opening a lock. “Yes. Yes, you should learn these things.” Minjaral had spent years as a ‘great pretender’ tricking his way into the houses of his oppressors; old habits never really died. “...Where to begin...My father. I...I do believe in gods—Forgive me, choosing the words is difficult….”

“Speak with your heart.”

“...I do not believe in Sto-vo-kor. I have spoke this to my family and to...to someone I loved when I was younger. And now I tell you because you are my patriarch. I believe...I believe in enlightened people who transcend material bodies and become god-like. I believe that our souls are eternal, and they continue on.” His eyes lifted up to the stars above them. “Our soul passes into another mortal vessel. If I die on Earth, my soul will become something of Earth. If I die on Homeworld. I will become something on there...I always wished to, when I die, become one of the trees along my parents’ fields or in the gardens of my brothers’ homes. I wanted to watch over our family.”

The stars twinkled. Even so far away from anything resembling an atmosphere, the stars twinkled.

“...I do not wish to be reincarnated on Earth. Or anywhere else. I want to die on Homeworld.” The anguish in his voice cut Minjaral. “If I die among the stars, what will come of me? I do not know how to take comfort in being so small.”

He could not stay silent. “I made a promise to your family. I will find a way. You will return to your home. One day.” He should have asked Doh’Val to come to Bajor. When they were at last done with these meddlesome interrogators, he would insist that they become travel companions.

“...Why did you take me into your house.” Doh’Val would not look at him, as if doing so was too painful. “You are not bound by the same traditions.”

He pulled Doh’Val closer. Ah! So many years, and still his heart was tender. “Because I saw someone letting go of everything they knew to fulfill their own promise. I lose nothing by helping you preserve your family’s honor.”

A sudden light fog, from the environmental controls, enveloped their part of the arboretum. A moment to pretend they were on their respective planets. A clever detail had the arboretum’s designer had incorporated. “I have sworn my loyalty to you, and it binds me. But, I must know the truth of your actions. I...I must understand your decisions if I am to follow you.”

It was only right. But when the words came, tremors of dread rippled through his back and hands. “I do believe Cardassia is my birthright.” His throat felt dry and tight. “I did wish to find Sark Sinjo. She has been building an archive of officers who….” No, he couldn’t name it in front of Doh’Val. “She believes she has identified my father. I have no doubt that he died in the last War.”

Doh’Val looked at him with curiosity. “Will you make a claim to his house?”

The mist was colder than Minjaral preferred. “No. I simply wish to know who he was.” His elusive father had been mythical for years. This would uncover the truth. He expected it to hurt, but the pain would bring catharsis. “After that, I do not know. I will wait for the universe to direct my path.”

“I do not like this,” he said darkly. “This will lead to suffering. But. I will follow you. Where you go, I shall go.”

The mist caught the light just right to act as a prism. A shimmering rainbow above them only to dissolve as the slight wind around the arboretum pushed the mist elsewhere.

“I did not think I would be happy to see Vudic again.” A sad smile. “And yet….”

“Perhaps this is where you belong.”

His brow furrowed against his ridges. “I do not understand.”

Minjaral gently urged Doh’Val to stand with him. He clapped both hands on his friend’s shoulders. “Here. In this place and in this moment. With me and Vudic and Krax. This is where you belong.”

“Why are you so certain?”

He didn’t care if the smile looked crooked. “I did not believe the three of you would come to my aid. They asked me for names, I gave yours, but I expected the three of you would rather forget our time on Qo’noS. And, truthfully, would anyone else but us understand what you have suffered?” Wrapping an arm around his shoulder once more, he felt Doh’Val lean lightly on him as they walked. “What was it your father believed in? That word for the universe’s hold on one’s soul.”

“Karma.” A epiphany came to his features. “You believe it is our karma to be together.”

“Yes, it is that. We are connected to each other.”

Another deep crease and a frown. “That is not the comfort that you believe it is.”

Minjaral felt the mist of the arboretum kissing his hair. “Then, help me understand….”

++++++++++++++  
++++++++++++++

_Diary for Myself_

_Doh’Val is asleep in my quarters and I fear myself and fear how much longer I can keep my fever from burning me alive. He came to me this evening without pretense or announcement, and ah! It was like our moments together when we traveled! So excited I was to have his company that I could not concentrate on a single song. I want to write dozens at once and only through his steadiness did he guide me in a single direction. I have disabled every chronometer that I see because the numbers taunt me. I do not know how long we talked. We spoke of God and I told him of the old schism between me and Ammi. I told him so many of the ways I have hurt my parents and friends. Why do I do these things? I think I have overwhelmed him. He fell asleep mid-sentence, and he is snoring softly now._

_I pray at night now. I no longer know what else to do with these hours. Meditation is not longer possible. I am just repeating words to nothing and somehow expect the universe to grant my wish. But what else am I to do?_

_Krax was dressed as a peacock today. I see blue on his fingernails. He says that he will never harbor any desire for my flesh, but why, then, would he wear blue if not to catch my attention? He repels any entry I may make into his mind, but there are other means of persuasion. I know so little of his body that any attempt to envision it is replaced with numerous body parts from other lovers. I envy him. Even the others from Homeworld are beguiled by him. They do it to ridicule me, I have no doubt. To punish me._

_Why does Doh’Val come to me? I feel his desire. His distress. His doubt. What shall I do?_

_Why did I allow this?_


	3. Liberation

Two days. All of this would be over in two more days.

Minjaral didn’t understand why Dr. Mowinckel insisted on giving him a small piece of candy after visiting sick bay for his daily treatments, but he took it as a little gesture of hospitality because he spent so much time there. The treatments had been a kindness granted after his initial examination and vehement arguing from the Maryam’s medical staff. He learned that his case was so unusual, Dr. Mowinckel even shared her notes: “the patient appears similar to a doll which has been broken and mended more times than one ever believed that the materials could tolerate.” They would heal him like one of the crew, Consortium interests be damned.

He tossed the candy back and forth in his hands as he walked nowhere in particular. The daily treatments, always early in the morning, buoyed his mood throughout the day. He never looked forward to seeing doctors before. He found out more about himself than any other doctor had ever told him, answering questions he once feared. The hearing loss he had been told to expect was reversible because it was trauma-related, not congenital. The pain of his nasal ridges growing deeper into his face was natural and would periodically occur throughout his life. The stiffness in his back was a combination of causes, but therapy would bring back full range of motion. And while the doctors gently scolded him for the scars and lacerations on his ankles and feet from tying himself up at night, the scolding felt compassionate. More than anything, though, they reassured him that his body was neither unnatural nor disgusting.

Was it still the High Holidays? Choosing to observe before asking questions, he still didn’t understand what exactly the people here were celebrating. The people did take great pains to explain different rituals, but he realized that there were deep questions he couldn’t answer.

If Vudic were well, he could have answered these questions.

Walking into one of the larger recreation areas with yet another endless party, he pressed his candy into the hand of the first crew member he saw, stumbled his way through a _Shana Tovah_ , and pulled the bright blue skullcap from his pocket to set atop his head. He hated the feeling of anything like this on his head, but the crew had insisted on giving it to him as a show of hospitality; refusing to wear it felt rude.

“Minjal!” came the loud whisper beyond his periphery. He caught Krax waving him over to a less-crowded part of the room. He also wore the skullcap which sat awkwardly on his head and clashed with his fiery suit. Minjaral did not like this—the Ferengi did not pace, did not fidget, did not wear his prostheses, and watched the room with deep concentration.

Krax did not look up when he came over. “You seen Vudic today?”

“Not yet, why?”

The pause troubled him. “...That suit I wore when we worked together, the good one with the blue and green. I was wearing it the other day when I saw him.” Another pause and Minjaral was starting to fear the worst. “He said that his father would wear blue when courting Dr. Jalal. Interesting, right? And then he gives me this look.”

All of them were his responsibility. He needed to keep them safe, even from each other. “What kind of look.”

“It was….” A slight tremolo in his silky indigo voice, going higher. “It was the kind of look I saw males give the dabo girls. The males who were trouble.” At last, Krax looked up with dread and shame. “I...I refuse to spend any time alone in the same room with him until all of this nonsense is over.”

Minjaral gave his outstretched palm; a touch on the shoulder without Krax’s permission was unacceptable. “I will ensure that I am always at your side.”

The hard squeeze Krax gave his hand said everything. “Thank you.”

Times like this, Minjaral wished that his friend did not so obviously act as though asking for help was an admission of weakness. Krax gruffly shook off the unpleasantness so he could change the subject. “Take a look at the male over there, the tall one.” Minjaral kept to himself any remark that when Krax was talking, everyone was ‘the tall one.’

Krax was right: a head taller that everyone else, lengthy black-and-gray hair gathered with a bright red ribbon at the base of his head, a bland smile of the straightest and whitest teeth that he could remember seeing, and sharp gray eyes. “What about him?”

Krax smiled. “Just watch him.”

The Tall Man was not handsome—stern angular features with cheekbones that could cut a person and a too-smooth nose that overpowered his face when seen in profile—but his strange allure emerged in the fluidity on his movements. He wore a black-and-white version of Krax’s ensemble with a slight puff to his bone-white shirt. Even when walking a few steps, he was light on his feet and gave subtle flourishes when turning to greet someone. “Who are they?”

“Someone you should have befriended as soon as you came here.” A slight clicking from Krax lightly gnawing on a fingernail. “Just keep watching. He has his back to the telepath.”

The Tall Man, without looking, reached behind himself and tapped the blue-uniformed officer on the shoulder. The officer—Krax reminded him in the moment that this was undeniably a telepath—spun in confusion a few times and addressed the Tall Man, clearly asking for help. The Tall Man pointed off in a different direction, still wearing the bland smile. The officer thanked him but squinted, doubting him.

The little upward curl at the corner of his mouth that came to the Tall Man’s face was meant only for him. Minjaral could hardly speak as he turned to Krax.

“I watched him do that three times already!”

“ _What_ is he?”

Krax suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled them both to another part of the room where a large long table of food could better obscure them.. “I have to keep moving. He almost caught me watching him, and I can’t have that.”

Dozens upon dozens of people milled about in the room which bore the same blue-and-white decorations he’d seen in the other lounges. Standing with Krax and observing everyone from a comfortable distance brought back more memories of the last time the four of them had been together. Krax had been conscientious of Minjaral’s language barrier and became his shadow; in return, Minjaral did what he could to help Krax impress every woman they came across. Ignoring the end, their time together had been pleasant.

Minjaral found a comfortable place to lean against the wall. “Why did you come here?”

Krax grunted sourly and kept focused on the crowd. “Minjal, what are you getting at?”

Numerous dots of blue skullcaps and blue scarves scattered through the groups of people. “They asked me for three names. I gave them three. I expected Doh’Val to come because he is indebted to me. Vudic, possibly, only when it was convenient. But you. I thought you would ignore the summons.”

A gruff sigh. “I don’t know, and if you want to know the truth, I regret it.”

An honest answer. Not one Minjaral could respond to. Krax had a right to be frustrated.

“…You three doofbeetles show up and tell me I’m some mysterious composer that has been famous for years, and you want to treat me better than any rich man. And I figure, even if it’s a scam, I’ve been in worse. I was curious.” The Tall Man was currently distracting another telepath long enough to palm their comm badge and place it on their sleeve. “And then I get there and...” He chortled in astonishment. “I’m respected. Yes, Morath didn’t like me at first, but he never once said I was a fraud. I can’t remember the last time I lived in a house.”

The Tall Man came across someone he genuinely liked, judging from how his smile changed and how he embraced them. A sharp tiny pain in Minjaral’s chest reminded him what he’d left behind: the chance meetings between old friends. Krax continued: “I, listen, I don’t even know how to explain it except that I went back to the station, and I hated myself even more than I already do. Not even for Doh’Val leaving his family, although yes, that was wrong. It was because—listen. On Ferenginar, females are good for having male babies, and nothing else.”

A peal of shiny black laughter. The Tall Man very much liked whoever he was speaking with. “I didn’t stay there because that’s what I’d be good for, and nothing else. But...being treated like an _artist_ , people asking how and why I compose—Profits and Lace, being challenged by you three! Being asked to defend my decisions! I….” Krax’s voice cracked slightly. “I never left Ferenginar. Not really. I still had that voice in my head telling me the only thing I was good for. And on the space station, it came back.” Minjaral could see that the way Krax’s beady eyes glistened how hard this was to speak aloud. “All of us are in a lot of trouble. And if I respected myself more, I wouldn’t be here. But, I saw the names, and I thought. Maybe there’s a chance. And you know what the worst part is?” A short finger angrily poked Minjaral’s chest. “The moment they told me what they think I did? The voice went away. And I haven’t heard it since.”

“Krax—”

“Just shut up, Minjal.” The snarl shocked him and, at first, he believed wholly that Krax would slap him hard enough to knock out his false eye if he said another word. “Just. Just shut up.” He began pacing in a circle. “I just—yes! You think I don’t know how serious this business is? Espionage? Government secrets?! And you handed them everything!” At least he was acting more like himself. “I didn’t ask questions! If someone made a strange request but they paid me well, I looked the other way! I—what else was I supposed to do!” Apparently silence was not the right answer because Krax barked, “Well?!”

Oh, _now_ he was supposed to talk. “If I had an answer, I’d tell you.”

“Profits and Lace, how are you suddenly so useless!” Krax was wringing his hands now. “I think they want me to confess so I can take some bargain. I just, I just _feel_ it.” 

“Will you take it?”

“I don’t know! Depends on the bargain!”

He hadn’t seen it in Krax but he knew the signs of someone twisting themselves into a frenzy. “Alright, stop, stop—Krax, please—take my hands.”

Grumbling, Krax clapped his hands into Minjaral’s and gave the same hard squeeze as before.

“Good. Now look at me.” Only when Krax finally looked up did he begin: “We stay together. Whatever they are going to do, they will want to sepa.rate us and turn us against each other. We stay together.” Was the Federation more compassionate and genteel than the Occupation government? Perhaps. He would not take any risks by testing that theory. “They would have locked up all of us already if they had the chance. Do not give it to them.”

“Alright.” Krax held on tight, even as he looked everywhere else. “Right. Right. Right. Right.” Only when he felt the gentle tug of his friend’s hands withdrawing did Minjaral let go.

The Tall Man had moved to another part of the party. Someone—ah, the redhead—was making bold overtures, standing close and resting his hands anywhere available while the Tall Man kept politely stepping back and moving the hands in smooth, easy motions. He looked uncomfortable. “You never told me who he is.”

“I keep missing his name. Strange thing too: I can’t figure what he likes. Anyone makes a romantic advance, and he redirects them to someone else.” A serving spoon clinked as Krax poured himself whatever liquid concoction served at all of these parties, something dark purple that was both too sweet and too bitter at the same time.

A tendril tickled in his brain and latched onto to the latticework of memory he’d constructed of everything he’d observed on the USS Maryam. The redhead grew more insistent as the Tall Man kept thwarting him with with the control of a master fighter. Who _is_ he? _What_ is he? A person who could elude telepaths. He squinted at this magnetic, graceful person who seemingly enchanted everyone. Wait, wasn’t it—

The Tall Man met his gaze and Minjaral felt his heart drop. That smile—no, that was not a smile.

“Minjal, are you alright?” How long had it been? Krax was watching with concern. His throat felt dry.

When he looked across the crowd, the Tall Man had disappeared.

Krax was wrong. That was not someone to befriend. That was someone to stay far, far away from.

++++++++++++++  
++++++++++++++

_Diary for Myself_

_Everywhere I turn, I see blue. They wear blue on their heads hair clothes bodies ankles wrists hands fingers their fingers and hands their fingernails. Blue. Everywhere I look I can see past the colors to the nakedness. I want to sink my fingers into the flesh. They are doing it to tease me. The others from Homeworld will not even let me near them and yet they wear blue! The telepaths put up their walls and turn their backs and yet they wear blue! Do they not see my pain? I am dying and they do nothing! They tell me of this Nikita who can resist telepaths but they will not tell me how to find them. I want them! I want to know!_

_I grieve. This metallic mausoleum among the stars is cold and lifeless. I want to feel the sands of L-langon’s desert under my knees._

_The intermingled tastes of T’Vel and T’Kiha are still my tongue when they took me into their tent._

_I want to smell the delicious stench of one hundred people reaching orgasmic climax as one panting, enormous mass. Oh, how the dew of our own exhalations clung to our skin!_

_I lie on the floor of my metal tomb and try to remember the fingers of the desert’s breeze tangling in my hair, me pressed between three lovers and the boulders._

_My clothes are made of needles which bite me unceasingly, but I dare not take them off. If I do, I will never wear them again._

_Why did I not go back that celebration of carnal pleasures? Why did I choose to suffer here?_

_Why doesn’t Doh’Val wear blue?_

_Does he not desire me?_

_He visits and still he will not speak the unspeakable! He must know I am suffering. Can’t he read me? Is he punishing me? Is there something more I must do to repent?_

_Yes. He will not lower himself to prostrating at my feet._

_I must go._

_I must beg._

_And I must hope that he will be merciful._


	4. Deception

“ _WELCOME! TO THE HOPAK COMPETITION!”_

Cheers and clapping thundered through the recreation hall. According to everyone on the station, this competition was so special and so renowned that being a spectator required advanced invitation. Naturally, everyone clamored to invite Minjaral, so he in turn invited the other three. The rest of the station would have to settle for watching it broadcast to their screens.

Three of them crowded around a tiny table, with Doh’Val insisting he would join them later. The move surprised Krax. “I didn’t expect him to want a moment alone.”

Minjaral waved off the concern, perhaps finally letting go of his worries. “He wanted to write music. It is a healthy thing.” Most of the room had been marked off for dancing with their table at the edge. Stewards expertly navigated the throngs, handing out whatever refreshments requested. “He told me it would be the first time he had written since leaving Qo’noS. It will be a good thing.”

Vudic signaled to a steward who, for once, responded to him. They were learning he was harmless. Mostly. There was a strange calm over his demeanor. Nothing like the near-mania he had been exhibiting since they arrived.

The host of the event came to the middle of the floor. “Minjal! The Tall Man!”

Vudic leaned in. “How do you mean?”

“I have been watching him! This is—of course! This is this Nikita person everyone keeps talking about!”

“The one who can resist telepaths.” The look that Vudic gave the man made Krax extremely grateful that he was not on the receiving end.

“ _L’Shana Tovah!_ ” he called in a sonorous, smooth voice just a little deeper than Minjaral’s.

 _L’SHANA TOVAH!_ boomed the crowd in reply.

Krax’s keen eye surveyed the outfit: Flowing white shirt gathered at the wrists with two big stripes of embroidery down the front, a large bright red sash around the waist, poofy deep blue pants, and calf-high brown boots. The whole thing looked horrible.

The Tall Man—Nikita—continued. “For those who are new, I have been hosting this event for more years than I care to admit—” his smile warmly, but something harsh felt just below the surface “—and I credit the people here for helping it grow….”

He continued on to lay out the rules or whatever was going on; Krax quickly lost interest. “Have you decided how you’re going to talk to him, Minjal?”

“Krax, I already told you.” He drummed his fingers in preoccupation. “I think we should leave him alone.”

“...And I must say, this year’s High Holidays are precious to me. Last year, I spent our celebratory time recovering from the major surgery I needed to let me to do this, one of the things I truly love. And now—” He gestured to the band who started up.

People whistled and whooped, all clapping in time. Good thing Krax had put in his ear drops to prevent hearing loss.

Someone so tall must also be as heavy, and thus doomed to bear the tyranny of gravity. But Nikita leaped around the dance floor and, for brief moments, took flight. His heels could touch his back when he hopped in place, and his legs could make a single straight line as he sailed through the air. But the crowning achievement, the one that made Krax jump from his seat in astonishment, was the move everyone bragged to them about: The Cossack Step. He never thought anyone’s knees could take so much punishment.

The moment Nikita stopped, the crowd exploded. He merely bowed, but he had told the truth before: he loved this, probably more than most of the people in his life.

How could they not applaud? Even Vudic looked momentarily impressed, clapping politely. “A feat of great skill,” he commented. Supremely high praise.

Instead of waiting for the crowd to quiet down, he made another gesture and more dancers came to the floor. The competition or show or whatever it was, it had begun. Krax didn’t care and simply marveled at the spectacle. Meanwhile, Minjaral talked excitedly with another table about the dancing, asking countless questions. For the first time, he didn’t engage with caution and acted comfortable.

Vudic stood from the table.”I must go. I have an appointment.”

Oh right, the doctor. Minjaral stood with him. “Will you be back?”

“I do not expect it.”

“Then one of us should go with you.”

“Doh’Val will come with him.” He disappeared into the crowd.

_Good, you were a distraction from all the fun anyways._

++++++++++++++  
++++++++++++++

Away from the jubilant celebrations, Doh’Val’s quarters held only the sounds of ambient space station noises and quiet music. He gave up on composition hours ago, now choosing to read, maybe write some letters. Later, he could even join some of the celebrations with Minjaral, the man who could open every door here.

Maybe Vudic had gone back to his quarters. Old feelings had crept back with the intent to torment him endlessly. When things were different, they could finally speak as he had wanted to for so long. The way everyone else regarded him—particularly other Vulcans—was needlessly rude. Vudic bore the cruelty with such grace.

It was the first time he felt happy since his exile. The pain was so exquisite, he never wanted it to end. Their mutual ruin had become liberation. Away from all the expectations of their own societies, they shared grief and aspirations. Vudic was unbridled, invoking Agni and Soma and Rumi and Shams-e as the new models for their lives. This new fervor was more than Doh’Val could keep up with, but trying at all gave him euphoria. The very air around Vudic was kinetic.

But he couldn’t ignore Kujvak’s warning. Whatever the reasons for this sudden shower of attention, it didn’t translate to the kind of affection he pined for. As soon as they concluded their business on the station, who knows. The distance between them would probably return. He should remind himself to enjoy this while he could and then forget all of it.

The door chimed. Vudic, no doubt. Maybe they could join the others….

He still sat at his small desk with his back to the door when he said, “Come in.”


	5. Seduction

“...And step—yes! Mr. Seu, you are a natural! You should try, Mr. Krax.”

 _Mr. Krax_. He smiled at the name. “I think I am too short,” he replied from his seat at their table over the din of the intermission. “How much longer do you dancers have before the next part of the show?”

One of them offered her hand with a grin. “Plenty. Now, on your feet!” Well, it would be rude not to take the offer.

Of course, the fun couldn’t last for long. Someone had to ruin it. Particularly a Vulcan woman with typical severity. “Mr. Seu?”

Minjaral composed himself immediately. “Yes?”

“I am Dr. T’Pon. I was brought here to see a patient, Mr. Vudic Jalal.”

Krax butted in, happy he had information to make this woman go away. “Yes, his appointment. Everything was normal, I assume?”

The first clue that something was wrong. Her eyes darted about the room, Krax realizing she was looking for every other Vulcan present. She gestured for them to follow, Minjaral right on her heels while Krax straggled behind.

They came to the quiet corridor. “Please explain again,” said Dr. T’Pon. “What do you mean by ‘everything was normal?”

Krax fumbled the words. “Well, well, he left us about an hour ago, maybe more. He said he had an appointment. I assumed it was with you.”

A tablet came out of nowhere. “I understand.” She started briskly down the hallway. “You must come to sickbay with me immediately.”

Minjaral dashed to step in front of her. “Why? Is he there? Is he hurt? Is he sick?”

She dodged him without breaking stride. “Your associate is not in my care. It would be impossible for him to have entered my care over an hour ago. I have only been on this station for exactly twenty minutes.”

++++++++++++++  
++++++++++++++

“Doh’Val”

Vudic’s voice hit him like a blow to the head. Rough and seductive like raw silk. Back still turned, he stood up from his seat only to knock over his tea, spilling it all over the floor. “Oh, I am so sorry.” Why was he apologizing?

“Do not trouble yourself.”

That voice made his heart flutter.

“Will you not greet me?”

How could he not obey? “I did not expect you so soon—” The sight before him snatched the breath from his throat.

Was he an illusion? A black flowing tunic of the sheerest fabric and equally sheer trousers. A shimmering ivory trim on the hem and wide white gold cuffs. The only thing securing the outfit was a belt made of golden fist-sized medallions. He still wore the void-black gloves. The cloth seemed like an aura around his perfect body. It had always been perfect.

“Doh’Val.” That sly wisp of a smile. Eyes lined with kohl. Blue eyes crackling with sexual energy. Black curls styled so expertly with just a touch of oil. He was more beautiful than Doh’Val ever imagined, even during those lonely nights of frustrated pining.

“...C-Can I offer you something?” His entire face felt hot. He remembered how drab and grimy he must be by comparison.

“I need no drink or food.” Barefoot, he seemed to glide across the floor and close the distance between them. A waft of perfume drifted off him, a concoction of musk, cedar, and cardamom mixing with his own natural scent. Oh, gods, he wanted to tear their clothes off. Doh’Val felt his pulse throughout his body.

“...What, what should I offer then?” his voice came hardly above a whisper.

A gloved hand caressed his cheek, making his knees weak. “Your attention, of course.” So gingerly did he take a handful of Doh’Val’s hair and breathe deeply! “You were always so attentive to me. Please, I need it now.”

“You noticed?” He leaned on the chair to steady himself. Is this happening? Is this more than a dream?

“I notice everything.” Even his breath was a mix of mint and vanilla. Ethereal. This couldn’t be real. Any moment, he would wake up alone.

“...You do?”

A tug at his collar, revealing that the tunic was actually a caftan as it split open. It revealed the skin which called to Doh’Val. “You were silent, but you desire me, do you not?” His voice was smoky now. “Please. Please say that you desire me.”

He already imagined a glistening green mark on Vudic’s chest where he would make a love-bite and make his claim. “Yes.”

The gloved hands played at Doh’Val’s collar in search of fasteners. “Please, say it again. Please say that you desire me.”

He could barely breathe. “I do.”

As he came closer, Doh’Val felt himself moving backwards. Too soon was he against the wall. Vudic now caged him with his arms. “Do you wish me not to perish?”

“I, No, I do not….” Why was he talking like that?

He sighed lustfully, popping the first fastener on Doh’Val’s shirt with a flick. “I need your touch. I need your body. I cannot live much longer without it.” The click of his teeth as he mimicked a playful bite.

He was going to wake up. As soon as he leaned forward to bite Vudic’s cheek, he would wake up and feel the mess on his thighs in a cold and empty bed. “...What should I do?”

“Let me feel you, Doh’Val, please.” His whispers made Doh’Val shiver. “Please. Let me inside you.” Practiced hands kept flicking open the fasteners on his shirt, drifting to his waistband. This was everything he had wanted for months.

And then against every other desire he ever had, he grabbed Vudic’s hand to stop it.


	6. Transgression

Minjaral paced around sickbay. “This is what he was talking about. He asked me to ensure he saw the doctor. He could not mind himself—he mentioned the madness. Or sickness.” He kept muttering to himself about how he should have paid more attention.

Dr. T’Pon’s fingers were a blur as she took notes at the sickbay’s computer, text scrolling alongside charts and pictures on the giant screen. “The madness. Describe Mr. Vudic’s behavior since his arrival.”

Now as Minjaral and Krax recounted their time together, it became obvious that something had been deeply wrong—beyond the social loss. Both realized that the other Vulcans didn’t avoid him like he was a criminal; it was like his sickness was contagious. And then— “Wait. He said that Doh’Val would be with him.”

Dr. T’Pon did not respond right away. “Security tells me they are both in the Klingon’s quarters. I am advising Security to keep the unit sealed.”

“But they will be locked in.”

“Precisely. The sickness will be contained.”

“Doctor,” Minjaral ventured, “I _am_ Doh’Val’s lawful kin. I need your reassurance that no harm will come to him.”

“Mr. Seu, I can only reassure you that I will perform my duty to the best of my ability.” If only Krax could read what was on screen. “Understand that for now, we can only monitor. I must speak with the head investigator.” She stepped past him.

Krax wouldn’t let anyone disrespect them or keep them ignorant. Krax made himself as big as possible in front of sickbay’s entrance to the corridor. “Now listen! I am still Seu Minjaral’s advocate, and I demand on his behalf that you explain what danger, if any, that our associate poses to his lawful kin!”

A cold stare. “Mr Seu’s lawful kin, for now, is not in any peril. I cannot discuss more without breaching the confidence of my own patient. Please step aside.” When he didn’t move, Dr. T’Pon added, “Delaying me _will_ cause harm.”

Krax had no choice and stepped aside, letting Dr. T’Pon disappear. The one or two nurses on duty merely asked if they would like anything to drink before reassuring that the goodly doctor would come back shortly.

“Very little of this makes sense,” Minjaral studied the screen, perhaps hoping the strange writing would reveal its secrets. “Vudic has a sickness and he avoids the doctor in favor of going to Doh’Val. What could they _possibly_ be doing together?”

After reviewing their time with the two, Krax realized a few details he kept to himself. “I think I have a few guesses….”

++++++++++++++  
++++++++++++++

“Vudic.” The name fell like dead-weight from his lips. The magic of the moment was fading. He needed to confront reality.

Vudic’s perfectly seductive expression broke into concern. “Doh’Val, what is it?”

“I….” A tear in his eye. He took the gloved hand he had stopped to press against his cheek. “I am so sorry.”

“Doh’Val,” he drew close, fingers carding through his hair so gently. “Doh’Val, shh, my love. You have done nothing wrong.”

He hiccuped between words. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t….”

“Shh, Doh’Val—”

“No, I—please, I—” He felt faint. “I—I am so sorry….”

His hands were so kind, caressing Doh’Val’s face and neck and dabbing his face. “There is nothing to apologize for. Speak to me. Tell me why you grieve.” His voice was gentle and nurturing. He felt so weak to hear it.

A shaky sigh to steady himself. “I have grieved every day since I left Homeworld. I still do not know if I will ever see my parents or my friends again, and life on Earth is a shadow of my former life. And, and….” Another tear. “I did not know if I would see you.”

He was being walked over to his bed. Yes, a good idea. He wanted to lie down and fall asleep and not wake up for another five days. “Shh, shh, my love,” cooed Vudic. “I am here.”

As soon as Doh’Val found the bed, he curled up on it. “I want—” He wanted so many things. “Vudic, I have wanted you for so long. And you now, here, in such beauty that I should cower before its presence. But I am so afraid. I am so afraid that I will only feel more pain.” Only since Kujvak did he feel so drawn to another, and now his old flame’s warnings echoed in his head.

Vudic stretched out next to him, glorious blue eyes compassionate. He caressed his cheek and kept crooning. “I understand, my love. I am here. No more pain will come to you.”

“I, I—Vudic—” Everyone had been so wrong. Vudic was nothing like what they warned him or said he should expect. They belonged together. “Please, let us talk first. Let us discuss our lives together. There is so much unsaid.” So much he wanted to say….

Sitting up, he peeled off his long gloves. A chance to lie together, a chance different from all the other times they had crammed together in a single, meager cot. A chance to feel and hold each other.

“Oh, my love, my word is my bond to you. We shall talk of everything and our lives and what I should have told you.” He stretched out on the bed with his clothes flowing around him like black smoke.

He could feel Vudic’s vanilla-mint breath. His voice was hypnotic. The air around Vudic seemed to shift like ripples of heat.

His whisper put another shiver through Doh’Val. “Let us speak now.” His hand was a hair’s width away. Something was changing.

They could finally be skin-to-skin. Doh’Val rested his hand over Vudic’s.

Fresh pain flowed into his lightning-strike scar and radiated throughout his body, just like that day in the rainstorm. Just like that night at the conference. “Shh,” crooned Vudic, rising and drawing closer. Their hands were clasped. “Shh, let us speak now. Speak to me with your body.”

He couldn’t move. Oh gods, he couldn’t move. And now his clothing was biting at his skin and slicing through. Death was breathing down his neck while his groin screamed for appraisal.

His body felt like it would turn itself inside out with panic. “Shh, you are safe, you are safe,” said Vudic softly, cradling Doh’Val’s head.

Any minute now, his head would split open at its ridges. “Oh beloved, I feel your blood fever....”

And Vudic was in his brain. _You understand now, don’t you_.

_Am I dying?_

_No, my love, because I am here. So long as we are together, we cannot perish._

_I ache for your touch._

_Then give yourself to me, Doh’Val._

_Then take me, Vudic._


	7. Absolution

Just past midnight. Quiet. The Day of Atonement.

Baran Ejo yawned and rubbed his eyes. He needed to finish reading this report. Behind him, one screen had the infra-red visualization of the quarters they were monitoring. Other screens displayed all possible sensor readouts from the room as well as from the other people being held on the station. The computer was collecting what they needed, but his supervisor insisted that someone watch. Before now, he had done everything to ignore the scene inside the quarters. It was gauche. It was...something he wasn’t ready to admit.

He bolted to attention at the sound of “Good evening, Interrogator.”

“Investigator!” How did he do that? “Forgive me, I did not hear you enter.”

“Good.” The lanky Investigator plucked the blue skullcap from his head and began neatly folding it up.

“Was the evening service, ah, enlightening?”

“Yes. Rabbi Ito and her wife conducted.” The Investigator was odd: he did not share in the religion or culture of the space station, but he mentioned always making time to attend services during the end of the High Holiday season. “How are our friends?”

Baran turned to the first screen. Two infrared outlines of people had merged into one mass with two intermingled heat signatures. Puffs of hot air coming off them from their heavy breathing. “The two in the holding quarters are….” He coughed to hide his embarrassment. “They aren’t tired yet.”

He hummed with intrigue as he slipped the folded little cloth into a vest pocket. “Hmm, five days. They will soon. Ask Security and Medical to post their intervention team outside the door. We need to be ready.” He pointed to the biological vitals readout. A warning flashed next to both names.

Baran found himself captivated by the figures on the screen. He couldn’t articulate why, only that he suddenly needed to cross his knees under the desk. “How much longer do you think we need to wait?”

“Not long. Dr. T’Pon believes both patients can make a full recovery if we intervene as soon as the fever breaks.” The Investigator pulled his signature silver case from another inside vest pocket with a weighty sigh. “And the other two?” A thin chewing stick appeared in his hand.

“The Ferengi goes to her quarters—” “Forgive me, the translator must be acting up. You meant ‘his quarters’, didn’t you, Interrogator.” “...Yes, sir. The Ferengi goes to his quarters at night. During the day, he stays with the war orphan in sick bay.”

A hum of curiosity. “Mr. Seu sleeps there?”

“Yes, on the floor and out of the way. He told Dr. T’Pon that she must use force to remove him. He wanted to be there when Mr. Seu the Second arrived.” Baran rubbed his nasal ridges. “Uh...Sir. I am having doubts about my initial conclusions.”

The Investigator’s teeth clicked softly as he slowly made splinters of the chewing stick. “Oh? Based on Dr. Mowinckel’s notes, or something else?”

“Yes. I mean, both. It is more. His behavior.” He switched the screen’s view over to sickbay. Mr. Seu was asleep in a chair, head drooped to his chest. “He seems….I think he is a good man. I still think he was selfish for burning down a historic building because he did not like the way it made him feel. But, I do understand now.”

“Good people do terrible things.” He liked to challenge his people and prompting them to argue with him. “Even unforgivable things.”

“By the Prophets. I want to hate him. I wish I hated him.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. Baran had to look away from the Investigator because the way he tongued the chewing stick put thoughts into Baran’s head that he’d never considered about his superior before. “Remind me: Why was he brought to us?”

Baran coughed to hide the squeak of his chair as he shifted his legs once more before pulling the initial report on an empty screen. “Facial scans and curious circumstances.” He needed force down these strange things rising up inside him. “Bor Amoranis still has not been found. Without the scar, they look identical, or close enough to be flagged by Bajor’s Customs Authority.” He leaned on his elbow. “And the fire, of course. Plus his own history of radical dissent, opposition to the free government, and his ties to groups which are still may be having secret contact with the Cardassian government.”

“I cannot authorize Luma’s recommendations until we have the doctor’s standard exam.” A heavy sigh. “I am having doubts about allowing them at all.”

“Sir, a deep scan on the hybrid would easily answer all of our questions.”

“Baranchka, a deep scan is very painful,” he chided. “I want to avoid them.” The many nicknames that the Investigator gave everyone never quite translated, but they always carried a little note of affection to remind Baran that for all his strange behaviors, the Investigator cared deeply for almost everyone he encountered—even the people they apprehended. “Regardless...I have an idea. None of you will like it.”

Baran already felt his heartbeat double. “Sir, sir, no, please do not tell me you will negotiate with them!”

“No, no. I need to think through it. But consider: one of them is connected to our targets, somehow. But we cannot agree on which one of them it is.” The Investigator smiled. “Perhaps we can use this to our advantage. Switch back to the view of the quarters, if you please.”

By accident—was it an accident?—Baran didn’t include the infra-red view. The scene within the quarters came up in crisp, scandalous detail. He silently panicked, transfixed, praying to the Prophets as he coughed again to hide his chair shifting.

The Investigator looked up and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Providence, go back to infra-red.” Somehow, he hadn’t noticed. Baran complied. “Baranchka, I do apologize.” He scoffed derisively. “It’s very tedious work watching people have sex, and I hope what you see doesn’t offend your culture’s sensibilities.”

“Oh, I am—I mean, no, it does not offend me.” He turned back to the screen before his whole face turned red.

“Very well.” A quiet, muffled yawn. “Contact me when—” The demanding beeps of the monitoring programs instantly gave them both a shot of adrenaline. “Ah, it seems our friends’ fevers have broken.”

The figures split apart. One of them was on the floor with the other crouched over.

He snatched a comm from the desk. “Consortium to T’Pon and Uzza, send your team immediately to our guests’ quarters.” The tap on Baran’s shoulder made him jump more than it should have. “Baranchka, I can monitor them for now. Go get some rest.”

“Oh, yes, ah, yes sir.” He yielded the chair, the permission reminding him how tired he was feeling. “Thank you, sir.”

The Investigator settled in. “We will talk in the morning.” He vaguely waved a farewell, already absorbed in the scene unfolding on the screens.

Baran stalked the lowly-lit halls to his quarters. The crisp, scandalous image was etched into his mind’s eye. Never had he seen anything like it. And now he couldn’t stop.

Maybe he should speak with the counselor….

+++

Late morning. A leisurely day in the Consortium’s corner of the Space Station Maryam.

Interrogators Yael Suzuki and Meeno Luma lounged on the couch in the break-nook because it was a good tie in the day to talk about nothing in particular. They positioned themselves so that they could crane their necks over to occasionally check all the screens of the main workstation.

“—Not even a little?” asked Suzuki incredulously, blowing on her coffee.

“Not even a little.” Luma grumbled. “He’s not malicious, but there are little things. Tap someone on the shoulder and pretend it wasn’t him, move their comm badge—and I don’t mean to complain; if you ask him to stop, he always does. But...just the fact that he can do it at all because I can’t sense him. It’s off-putting.”

Suzuki leaned forward, captivated. “What do you think is the cause?”

Luma’s eyes swept around the room. She continued in a hushed voice. “The rumor I heard is that he’s been like that for at least a decade, since before the War. Lieutenant Al-Ghazzawi? She was still an ensign when he first came to the station and she says it has something to do with the scars on the back of his nec—”

The Investigator’s voice made them both bolt to their feet. “Good morning, Interrogators.” How did they not hear him?!

“Good morning, sir!” They chimed, and Suzuki saw Luma’s face turn white from shock and then deep red from frustration at being caught off-guard.

He frowned and gestured for them to sit back on the couch; he trusted anyone under his supervision to manage their own time and take breaks as they saw fit. “Someone handed me this babka and insisted that it now belonged to me.” He set the platter on the table next to the couch and the glorious cinnamon-chocolate scent of the dessert wafted over them. “How are our patients?”

Luma pointed to the screens. “Dr. T’Pon induced a medical coma in one. The other woke up on his own ten minutes ago.” The doctors only allowed a single visual feed of the triage area. If they wanted to monitor vitals, they needed to ask in writing.

The Investigator strolled over and suddenly cracked a smile. “Providence, our hybrid is very upset.”

Suzuki must see this. Nearly a whole month had passed and the hybrid—Bajorassian, War Orphan, whatever they should call him—displayed nothing but preternatural restraint. He was polite, cooperative, and quiet. As soon as the two of them came over, the Investigator pressed a button to let them eavesdrop.

“— _YOU HAVE_ ANY _IDEA HOW MUCH DAMAGE YOU HAVE DONE TO US?!”_

Luma’s voice popped into her head, _{{Oh my, if you watch his mouth, you can see a little fleck of foam._ _}} {{Every time he gestures, I think he’s gonna back-hand the Vulcan}} {{Oh, look, the Vulcan keeps almost flinching}}_

“— _will not press charges.”  
_“ _OH? WELL PERHAPS I WILL! AS HIS LAWFUL KIN!”_  
“...You know the damage that would cause.”  
“Vudic, I swear, I swear by the graves _of Nima and Cirn, if he dies, I will rededicate my life to destroying yours—”_

_{{_ _I didn’t think he was capable of being this angry}} {{Oh you weren’t the one reading him. None of us can decide who does the deep scan. We may send him to a specialist because that will be an exhausting scan. I could feel it, even in passing}} {{Maybe Baran was wrong about his doubts—}}_

The Investigator’s voice cut through. “Suzukya, Lumya,” he said sharply, narrowing his eyes at them. “You two are awfully quiet.” One thing he did not like: telepathic conversations.

Think fast! “Interrogator Baran said he has an appointment with the counselor and cannot meet with us this morning,” piped Suzuki. To help out, Luma added, “And that redhead is looking for you.”

The Investigator shuddered in distaste at the redhead. “If he asks, I am busy.” He turned down the volume on the security feed while the hybrid continued his verbal rampage. “Anything I should know about with Baran?”

Luma looked off innocently. “He seems very perturbed about last night.” Suzuki dutifully made sure to hide her smile.

The Investigator furrowed his brow with concern. “I hope he wasn’t too disturbed.”

“No, but when I saw him this morning he seemed, oh, preoccupied.” The sing-song in her voice betrayed what they knew.

For all his perspicacity, both Suzuki and Luma noticed right away that one subject constantly eluded him. The Investigator squinted at them suspiciously, clearly knowing full-well that they knew something he didn’t and calculating how badly he wanted that knowledge. “Tell him,” he said slowly, “he is welcome to come talk to me.” He turned from the workstation and toward his office alcove.

Luma had to know. “Sir, wait. You haven’t signed off on my recommendations.”

“I know, and I have decided that I will not.”

Luma was flabbergasted. “And why?”

He stopped at their file repository workstation. “I think we are going about this the wrong way. I have an idea, but none of you will like it—where are the dossiers? Ah, nevermind—the offer you recommended for Mr. Rhoon-son. Send me your draft.”

“Will you at least tell us your plan?”

The Investigator called over his shoulder as he disappeared, “No, because you will ask me not to do it, and I think you might convince me.”


End file.
